


Hospital Flowers

by yamarik



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamarik/pseuds/yamarik
Summary: Yata is dying of hanahaki, and Fushimi is running out of time.(rated T because people swear and Mikoto has no filter)





	Hospital Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I was surprised by the fact that there don't seem to be any Sarumi hanahaki fics on ao3 so I went ahead and wrote one like the trash that I am because it seems like a good trope for them.  
> I did add in a couple of things to the trope for plot convenience, so sorry if that bothers you.

Fushimi did not have time for this. 

The special squad of Scepter 4, himself included, had been summoned to Shizume General Hospital on account of the thugs from Homra showing up there. However, wherever those idiots were, they weren’t causing problems for once, and were surprisingly subdued, and there was really no reason Scepter 4 surveillance was necessary. Meanwhile, there was work to be done, like tracking down a strain who had kept her powers following the fall of the slates and who was now calling herself “the Copper King”, claiming she could create clansmen; it was all bullshit, but she had still managed to create a gang of loyal followers who were waiting for power, and so she needed to be stopped. Not to mention another strain had missed his last check-in, and they’d gotten a call from a woman who was convinced her newborn was a strain, and really they were far too busy for the entirety of their squad to be hanging around watching for some ne’er-do-wells who weren’t even up to anything. Surely Fushimi at least could be spared from this pointless duty. 

“Well?” asked Gotou as Akiyama and Benzai returned from talking to one of the staff members at the information desk. Not far away, the nurse who had been the one to sound the alarm hovered nervously. 

“Apparently one of their guys was admitted this morning,” Benzai said. 

Fushimi barely contained a “No shit, Sherlock”. That much was obvious. Homra wasn’t about to take up volunteer work at a hospital, even with Anna calling the shots. Though if one of their guys was hospitalized, he was somewhat nonplussed that Misaki wasn’t running around and making a ruckus. In fact, it was rather odd that his idiot hadn’t come running to yell at them for nothing again. He’d likely been too rowdy and gotten kicked out already. No doubt he was tearing through the streets on his skateboard like a madman, trying futilely to calm his highly-strung self. 

“Which one?” Enomoto asked, his eyes watery with concern. Of course Enomoto would be one to empathize. He was probably already calculating how much he could afford to spend on a “get well soon” card and bouquet. 

Again, Fushimi bit back his instinctive response of “Who cares?” But really, who cared? It’s not like anyone but the other members of Homra would ever miss any of those guys. 

“Yatagarasu,” Akiyama said, and Fushimi was certain he must have heard wrong. Misaki would never get hospitalized. He was an idiot, so it wasn’t like he could catch a cold, and he was always going on about proper diet so he was fine there, and as for injuries, well, he was a hardy idiot. He didn’t get hurt unless someone else hurt him, and even then, few people could manage that. And those that could… Fushimi would never allow it. Only he could ever have access to that special place in Misaki’s heart for those who hurt him. “Apparently he’s gravely ill. We weren’t given the details, but it seems quite serious. They’ve even called for the silver clan in hopes that Shiro-san might be able to help.” 

“Did you find out which ward?” Fushimi was shocked to realize he was the one who had asked it. But no, of course he had to ask; he couldn’t believe it so simply. Akiyama had to be wrong. This was Misaki he was talking about after all. He would go and see for himself and find out what caused this misunderstanding. 

“The hanahaki ward,” Benzai said, his brows furrowed in befuddlement at Fushimi’s interest. 

Hanahaki. The flower sickness. A disease that infected those with unrequited love, causing them to cough up flower petals until, eventually, it killed them. But there was no way Misaki would have hanahaki. He’d caught it before, back when Fushimi was still in Homra and they still lived together, but then he’d been cured, and hanahaki was something you could only catch once. The only way Misaki could have hanahaki was if he had it still, but that was impossible since Suoh Mikoto was dead. Hanahaki was an indiscriminate disease, but it was not a cruel one: if your love died, even if they hadn’t returned your feelings, you were still cured of your sickness. 

So no, Misaki couldn’t have hanahaki now. Fushimi was sure of it. 

* * *

_Fushimi was sitting up on his bunk, hacking into a surveillance system for fun. The alternative was to go join everyone else at that bar, and he’d had more than enough of that place. The air was stale with old cigarette smoke and stifling “camaraderie”. He liked it here in their apartment, where at least he felt like he could breathe._

_Except the atmosphere of that bar was beginning to permeate their apartment as well._

_Fushimi’s peace was torn apart with the sudden arrival of Misaki, throwing the door open without a care as always and entering like a miniature human tornado. Fushimi’s lip curled in annoyance, but at least Misaki was alone this time. Lately, Misaki kept bringing the other clansmen over, and it was nauseating to have those people in **their** space. He never got Misaki to himself anymore. Even when it was just them, Misaki’s mind was elsewhere, and it hurt. _

_“Yo! Saruhiko!” Misaki crowed cheerfully. He seemed to be in high spirits. “I got ingredients for hot pot!”_

_“It’s too hot for something like that,” Fushimi complained, but secretly, he was pleased. They hadn’t had hot pot since that time under the kotatsu, and that had been pleasant. Misaki had been focused on him then. He idly wondered what bizarre fixings Misaki had prepared in his latest attempt at getting Fushimi to eat vegetables. Strangely enough, he was even looking forward to it a little, even if vegetables were still disgusting and fruits had no place in hot pot._

_“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Misaki cleared his throat, coughing slightly. “Keep that bitching up and I’m gonna put in leeks.” Fushimi pulled a face on reflex, but he could tell by Misaki’s tone that he didn’t mean it. Like this, it was good. Comfortable. The two of them, here, together, in their special place, just belonging. This was how it ought to be._

_Of course, they’d barely started eating when Misaki had to ruin it all._

_“Hey, Saruhiko, some of the guys were talking about hitting the arcade tomorrow. You wanna come?”_

_Fushimi had been trying a piece of radish when Misaki spoke up, and the vegetable, which had been almost decent, suddenly tasted like bile. He swallowed it anyway, as he always did when he tasted that bile that Homra seemed to induce in him._

_“No,” he said bluntly._

_“Aw, why not?” Misaki whined. “It’ll be fun!”_

_“Misaki, I said no,” Fushimi grumbled, poking at his bowl with his chopsticks._

_“But- but we all want you to come, Saru. Please?”_

_Fushimi slammed his chopsticks down._

_“I said no!” he shouted. “I don’t want to go to the stupid arcade with you and everyone else!”_

_“But you- but you like the arcade…” Misaki said meekly._

_“Not when everyone’s going to be making a ruckus I don’t,” Fushimi snapped._

_“O-oh. Okay,” Misaki looked deflated. “Sorry,” he added after a moment._

_They continued their meal in silence, but it wasn’t one of the comfortable ones that had sat between them in the past. Fushimi hated this. He hated Homra. They had taken what he loved and ruined it, just like his father had done with everything he’d ever shown the slightest interest in. They were Niki all over, just masked with “good will” or some such bullshit._

_Fushimi was almost finished when Misaki started talking again. He cleared his throat and sighed heavily, then looked over at Fushimi and said, “Y’know, I was talking to Mikoto and-”_

_Misaki was interrupted as he began to cough. It was one of those coughs that starts small, little puffs of air that are more annoying than purposeful, and then escalating into heaving coughs that shook his body. And then suddenly, a flash of red left his mouth and a single bright red petal was left floating in his bowl. Misaki stared at it, alarmed, while Fushimi scowled in disgust. So Misaki’s worship of Mikoto had turned into love, had it? What else could it mean, that bright red petal, Mikoto’s color, showing up just when Misaki was talking about the man?_

_Misaki’s eyes slowly travelled upward to Fushimi, and he began babbling some bullshit about practicing magic tricks, and the flower he’d been practicing with must have lost a petal. But it was obvious what was really going on, even to one who wasn’t as smart as Fushimi._

_“I’m done eating,” Fushimi said, and excused himself. Later that night, as he was taking a shower, he could feel the tickling beginning in his own lungs. Up until now, he’d thought maybe there was a chance Misaki could come back to him. But now he’d seen the proof of his replacement with his own eyes. Misaki was in love with Mikoto. Mikoto didn’t reciprocate his feelings, of course, because Suoh Mikoto was a complete idiot, but it didn’t change the fact that Misaki only had eyes for said idiot. And if he loved Mikoto, then he couldn’t love Fushimi, could he?_

_So much for “us against the world”._

_He coughed up his first petal the next day. As if the universe were laughing at him, it was bright red as well. But where Misaki’s had been a plain-looking petal, Fushimi’s was gaudier: a rhododendron. After that, he used his Homra flames to burn the petals before they left him. It gave him a bitter pleasure, to use the flames Mikoto had given him to fight back against the disease that Fushimi had gotten thanks to Mikoto’s getting in the way._

* * *

Back in the hospital, Fushimi tapped a foot in irritation. Akiyama wasn’t one to lie, which meant there must have been some kind of misunderstanding. He’d just have to go and straighten things out for himself. 

“I presume the rest are there?” Fushimi said, arching an eyebrow. Benzai and Akiyama nodded. “Good. I’ll go talk to them,” he said, and swept off before anyone could say anything. Not that any of them would. They were used to him giving orders and not accepting any argument. 

Fushimi strode briskly through the hallways, searching for a directory since he wasn’t familiar with the layout of this place. He’d never had any reason to come here before. As he searched, he felt the familiar tickle that indicated he would be coughing soon, and as always, he activated his Homra flames to eliminate the petals before they were emitted. He douted he’d be able to keep his disease secret for much longer. So far, only Munakata had found out about his hanahaki, and he’d like to keep it that way, but his coughs were becoming more frequent ever since the slates had been destroyed and he’d lost the protection of Munakata’s and Hisui’s sanctums. Being under a king’s sanctum slowed the disease’s progress, allowing one to live much longer than the year or less that was generally afforded to those who fell ill with hanahaki. In the worst cases, prognosis could be as little as a month, with the only chances of survival being if their love died, their feelings changed, their love became requited, or they underwent surgery to remove their hanahaki spores (also rendering them incapable of love forevermore). For Fushimi, who had been under multiple sanctums since the time he’d first contracted hanahaki five years ago, the disease had even halted all progress for a time. Even now, it was progressing far more slowly than usual as a result of his body still containing auras of three different colors. But even three auras could only hold the disease in check for so long without the slates. The clock was ticking for Fushimi. If his colleagues found out, they’d get all worried and try and fuss over him. Worse still, if they saw the bright red of the petals, they would realize it was someone from Homra and would try and track down the culprit to persuade him to fall for Fushimi, and, should that fail, murder him. And that was one outcome Fushimi didn’t want- his coworkers would surely say some embarrassing things as they tried to convince Misaki. 

A small, nasty part of his brain that remained from the days when Niki had been alive pointed out that if Misaki did have hanahaki and was nearing the end, his death would save Fushimi. He mercilessly snuffed out that thought. He would never accept such an outcome. If either of them would die, it would be him, since Misaki had a family who loved him, and also he couldn’t stand the thought of a world without Misaki. But since there had to be a mistake, then Misaki wasn’t actually dying, and Fushimi would find some way to get Misaki to fall for him before his time ran out. 

That small nasty part of his brain revived itself to ask him how he expected get Misaki to fall in love with him in a few months when he hadn’t managed it in the five years since he’d contracted hanahaki. But they were back to being friends now. He just had to not let his jealousy get in the way and work from there. Simple. 

It took five minutes to find a directory, and another 15 minutes to find the hanahaki ward. He actually entered the ward without realizing it, and only became aware of that fact when he heard a vaguely familiar voice proclaiming, “I can’t believe that idiot Yata refused to get the stupid surgery!” 

“Sanchan, quiet down, we’re in a hospital,” Kusanagi’s voice replied, just barely audible as Fushimi headed towards the voices. 

“I can’t help it!” the first speaker wailed. “That guy’s always really loud and obnoxious and bossy and violent, but he’s still one of us! We already lost Totsuka-san and Mikoto-san, we can’t lose Yata-san too!” 

“Oy, don’t say that kinda shit in front of Anna,” someone hissed as Fushimi rounded a corner and finally spotted them. Fushimi almost laughed. So it was okay to swear in front of their former king, but mentioning death was unacceptable? 

“I didn’t mean-” 

“Oy. What the hell’s _he_ doing here?” one of them asked, elbowing the guy next to him. The questioner had vaguely reddish hair and wore a vest, and the guy he elbowed had dark hair and glasses and wore a fedora. Chitose and Dewa, if memory served Fushimi correctly. At Chitose’s prodding, Dewa looked up, and his gaze went from forlorn to furious. Strange. Fushimi had thought that after the events in which the slates were destroyed, an unofficial blanket pardon had been issued for his clan-switching. He’d had to work with some of these lowlifes on a couple of occasions since then, what with their clans cooperating to deal with the strains created as a result of the green clan’s actions, and while they hadn’t exactly been friendly toward him, they had been peaceable enough, yet as the rest of the clansmen looked up and saw him, the same hostility entered their eyes, making it clear that Fushimi was not welcome here. 

“Your presence alarmed the hospital staff, so they called us to ensure you didn’t become a problem,” Fushimi said, answering Chitose’s inquiry as he continued his approach. “And since I heard some ludicrous rumor that you’re all here because Misaki is dying of hanahaki, I came to see what’s really going on.” 

“It’s not a rumor,” Kamamoto said tiredly. Fushimi almost didn’t recognize the man, since he was in his skinny form. He was sitting on the ground, his knees pulled up towards his chest as he slumped towards them lifelessly. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and had deep bags underneath. 

“I beg your pardon,” Fushimi said flatly, because he was absolutely certain that was impossible. 

Kamamoto opened his mouth to answer, but of all people, Fujishima beat him to the response with an angry “He _said_ it’s not a rumor, asshole. It’s the truth, you goddamn piece of shit, so if you’re satisfied with the damage you’ve done then just leave already, damnit!” 

Fushimi was so startled by the outburst that he stopped in his tracks. He stood a moment, frowning slightly as he tried to comprehend the angry words that he’d just been hit with. Misaki had been in love with Mikoto, and Mikoto had died. He should be cured. So how could he still have hanahaki? 

“Saruhiko.” Fushimi looked down to find Anna at his elbow, looking up at him earnestly. Once she had his attention, she turned and walked away from the group, and Fushimi, not knowing what else to do, obediently followed. Kusanagi also followed after them, presumably to make sure Fushimi didn’t harm the reds’ former king. Fushimi’s mind was whirring, trying to come up with answers. He came up with two possibilities in the end: that Misaki could not be cured of his illness by normal means because its progress had been slowed, or that Misaki had fallen for someone in Homra other than Mikoto. The former couldn’t be dismissed without talking to Shiro, who, as the resident expert on the slates and the power they granted, might know about the long-term effects of being under a sanctum. The latter raised the question of who else Misaki could possibly have fallen for. Definitely not the blonde guy, or the short-haired one, since neither of them had been around when Misaki had developed hanahaki. But there were still plenty of other possibilities: Chitose, Dewa, Fujishima, Bandou, Kamamoto, Kusanagi, and Anna. Given the behavior Misaki had displayed towards them, the first four seemed unlikely. He was a little closer to Kamamoto, but he still treated him the same as the rest, and surely Misaki would act differently around someone he considered special. That just left Kusanagi and Anna. The two near Fushimi right now. 

Anna led the way to a small vending area, just a couple of machines, a tobacco counter, and a couple of tables. She took a seat and indicated Fushimi and Kusanagi should do the same. 

“Saruhiko,” Anna repeated once the two men had also settled themselves. Unlike the first time she’d spoken, it sounded like his name was clearly a prelude to something more. “Misaki needs you right now.” 

Fushimi’s fingers twitched, suddenly aching to claw at his collarbone, but he resisted. 

“No he doesn’t,” Fushimi replied bitterly. “He needs whoever it is that won’t love him back.” He glared accusingly at Anna and Kusanagi, wondering which of them was the moron who didn’t love Misaki back. Misaki deserved all the love in the world, so how could they do this to him? And how could they just sit out here, calm and uncaring as Misaki was- 

“And what makes you think that whoever it is that won’t love him back isn’t you?” Kusanagi asked, his voice bordering on dangerous as he tilted his head down and let his sunglasses slide along his nose so he could look at Fushimi above them. 

Huh. Not so calm after all. 

Wait what? Had Kusanagi just implied that he- 

Fushimi clicked his tongue. 

“That’s impossible,” Fushimi said flatly. “You’ve got it wrong.” 

He planted his hands on the table and stood, but too late he felt the familiar tickle. He coughed, and a cascade of three petals fluttered from his mouth. Things were getting bad for him indeed if he was emitting so many at once. He instinctively snatched at the petals, but Anna and Kusanagi were just as quick- the three of them got one petal apiece. Fushimi burned his right away, then eyed the other two, debating his chances of snatching them back and disposing of them. But it was too late- Anna and Kusanagi were already examining them. 

“Anna, is this-?” Kusanagi asked. Anna nodded, then looked back at Fushimi, who was belatedly realizing that he should have just run away the moment the petals were out. 

“Saruhiko, Misaki needs you right now,” she repeated, then added, “And Saruhiko needs Misaki right now too.” 

* * *

Somehow the two of them managed to convince Fushimi to go into Misaki’s room. He hated them for it, because contrary to what they might think, it wouldn’t solve anything, and because once they were in there, he was punished with the sight of Misaki looking pale and small and weak in that hospital bed, and surrounded by whole flowers. He’d expected Misaki to be worse off than him, certainly, having only one color instead of three, but this… The months when Misaki had been left without a king must have taken their toll. As he watched, Misaki coughed up some more flowers, adding to the various blossoms arrayed around him. 

Only the flowers weren’t red. Some of the ones littering the bedsheets were, but just as many were blue, and a few were violet. All were morning glories, the same as that petal Misaki had coughed up all those years before. But who among the members of Homra could be represented by such colorful flowers? 

A part of Fushimi’s mind, still in denial, tried to protest that the flowers must be for someone else, someone not involved in the clans. Perhaps that fortune-teller or one of Homra’s other informants. But really, once he saw those flowers, Fushimi knew. How could he not? That blue was so familiar, the exact shade of his Scepter 4 aura. A few of the flowers had streaks of green: his aura from Jungle. That with the red from when he was in Homra… There was no way the flowers could be for anyone else. 

But he loved Misaki. If Misaki loved him, then their feelings were not unrequited. 

Then again, there were rare cases in which hanahaki developed in those who merely _believed_ their love to be unrequited. If that was the case here, then that meant… well it apparently meant that he and Misaki were some of the world’s biggest idiots, since they had developed a double case of ‘actually-requited-hanahaki’. 

Over by the bed, Anna was taking a seat by Misaki’s side, and slipping her hand over his. 

“Misaki,” she said gently, and Misaki’s eyelids fluttered open. He smiled weakly at her. “Saruhiko’s here, and he has something important to say to you.” 

Misaki’s eyes travelled over to Fushimi and then widened almost imperceptibly in disbelief, and then he smiled as tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He coughed, flowers erupting from him, before he finally spoke. 

“Saru,” Misaki rasped. His voice was paper-thin and shaky, and it made Fushimi want to break down and cry because Misaki was not meant to be this way. With each syllable, puffs of flower petals left him, indicating just how little time he had left. “You’re here. I’m glad I got to see you just one more-” Misaki was interrupted by another bout of coughing, before he finished with a breathless, “-time.” 

“Misaki…” Fushimi said, not knowing what to say. 

“ _Tell him_ ,” Kusanagi growled lowly from just behind Fushimi. 

“Misaki, I-” Fushimi began, but just how was he supposed to say it? He’d never been good with feelings, especially not ones like this. He clicked his tongue in irritation, then looked at Anna and asked, “Do you still have that thing?” 

Thankfully, Anna knew what he meant and nodded. He jerked his head towards Misaki, and she complied, producing the petal and handing it to Misaki. 

“What’s-? Misaki asked, coughing lightly as he reached for the petal Anna held up for him. 

“This came from Saruhiko,” Anna said. “It’s Misaki.” 

“Huh?” Misaki asked, his hand dropping back down and he looked to Anna for clarification. Fushimi wasn’t sure he would have understood it himself if he hadn’t known what Anna meant. An idiot like Misaki certainly wouldn’t- 

Misaki surprised Fushimi however, continuing with, “But Anna, you know as well as I do that Saru doesn’t feel that way about me.” 

* * *

_Yata sighed heavily, looking at the corner where Saru tended to sit when he was at the bar. That corner was increasingly empty these days. At first he’d thought Saru was just mad at him for being able to make new friends so easily while Saru struggled in entering the closely-knit group of Homra, but now Saru wasn’t even trying to get along with everyone else. Had he just given up?_

_“Something wrong, Yata-chan?”_

_Yata jumped at the sound of Totsuka’s voice. He hadn’t noticed the older man was so near to him. Totsuka smiled at Yata as he took the stool next to Yata’s own and folded his hands on the bar. He considered denying that anything was wrong, but the others always claimed he was transparent when he lied about things, and besides, this was Totsuka. He could trust Totsuka, right?_

_“Uh, kinda,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. His beanie came loose, and he fixed it quickly before sighing and saying, “It’s stupid. I just kinda feel like Saru’s been drifting away lately, y’know? Like, he’s always going off by himself. And I guess I kinda miss him, and all. I mean, he’s my best friend, and-” Misaki was suddenly cut off by a surprise fit of coughing. He put a hand up to cover his mouth, and choked out a “sorry” before more coughing overtook him. As it finally eased up, he felt something in the palm of his hand, and looked down to see a flower petal resting there. He stared at it, confused. Where had that come from?_

_“Well, I guess that explains a lot,” Totsuka said calmly, leaning over to look at the petal._

_“What does?” Kusanagi asked, and Yata jumped, even though he and Totsuka were seated at the bar so it was hardly a surprise that Kusanagi was so close. Totsuka plucked the petal from Yata’s palm and brandished it for Kusanagi._

_“Ah,” Kusanagi said. “Yeah, that would definitely make a lot of sense.”_

_“W-what do you mean?” Yata said, blushing furiously._

_“He means you got it bad, kid,” Mikoto said, rising from the couch where he’d been napping to come rub Yata’s head. Yata tried to remember if Mikoto had been there when he came in but his memory failed him. Mikoto napped there so often it was easy to blank him out when he was there and imagine him in when he wasn’t._

_“Got what?” Yata asked, his voice suddenly hoarse with nerves._

_“Well, hanahaki, for one,” Kusanagi said._

_“Tch-ch-ch,” Totsuka scolded, flapping a hand in a sort of “go away” gesture at Kusanagi._

_Hanahaki. Yata had heard of that. It was when you liked someone, but they didn’t like you back, right? But that would mean that he…_

_Yata felt uncomfortably warm all of a sudden, and when his hands jumped to his face, his cheeks were burning._

_“You mean that I- I **like** Saruhiko?” he asked, shocked. _

_“Oh, looks like ya got through,” Mikoto said, and knocked gently against Yata’s head._

_“You’re not helping either,” Totsuka said accusingly._

_“Ah, my bad,” Mikoto said, not sounding the least bit repentant._

_“What do I do?” Yata whispered, horrified. “I’ve never even liked someone before. And we’re both guys. And Saru’s been drifting away and I don’t know how to stop it.”_

_“It’s alright, it’ll all work out somehow,” Totsuka said airily, like always. And if Totsuka was saying that like always, then that meant things were okay, right?_

_“Well everyone has a first love sometime,” Kusanagi said. “So it doesn’t matter that you’ve never liked someone before: you’ll figure it out, same as everyone else. And there’s nothing wrong with guys liking other guys. Some people might think so, but screw them. And if you happen to be one of them, you better get over it since you’ve pledged yourself to a king who likes other guys.”_

_“Wait really?” Yata asked, twisting around to face Mikoto._

_“Ah, yeah, s’true,” Mikoto said, smiling wryly. “S’what I’m attracted to. Plus the sex is pretty great, y’know.”_

_As Yata sputtered and almost fell off his stool, Kusanagi snapped a towel across the bar at Mikoto._

_“As for Fushimi becoming more distant,” Kusanagi continued, scowling at Mikoto in reproach, “you’re gonna have to find a way to bridge that distance. You can’t rely on him to take the initiative, so it’s up to you to reach out and reel him back in.”_

_“Huh?” Yata said, confused._

_“He’s saying to try and spend some time with Saru-kun,” Totsuka clarified._

_“Oh,” Yata said. “Okay. But we already spend a lot of time together? We do live together and all.”_

_“Maybe try spending time together when you’re not home then,” Totsuka suggested easily. “Do something special together. It just might be enough to help get things rolling between you two.”_

_“Okay, I think I can do that,” Yata said._

_“Good luck,” Mikoto said, patting his head one more time before starting to walk off._

_“W-wait!” Yata called, and Mikoto stopped and angled his head back to show he was listening. “Y-you guys won’t tell Saru right? Please?”_

_Mikoto inclined his head in agreement and then finished leaving, while Kusanagi replied, “If that’s what you want,” and Totsuka made a zip-the-lips motion and said, “My lips are sealed.”_

_Yata sighed in relief and relaxed. He could do this. He just had to make sure he didn’t let Saru isolate himself anymore. He’d bring Saru along whenever Homra was doing things so he wouldn’t feel left out, and he’d talk about everyone more so Saru would maybe feel like he knew them and wouldn’t feel as awkward around them. If Saru felt included, then he definitely would stop being so distant, right?_

_Yeah, he could do this. And once Saru wasn’t so far away anymore, then he could talk to Saru about his feelings._

* * *

“You’re a fucking idiot.” 

Fushimi wasn’t aware of the words leaving his mouth, but there they were, hanging in the air, having been uttered in his voice. 

“Wha-?” Misaki began, but he wasn’t going to give Misaki a chance to finish. 

“How am _I_ the one who doesn’t feel that way about _you_? I never gave a damn about any of them except for you, only then they all became more important than me, and then you started coughing up bright red petals that were the same color as Suoh fucking Mikoto. Until then, I thought I had a chance to win you back, but once that happened…” 

Misaki’s eyes widened, and aside from the puff-coughs peppered with petals that forced their way out of him, he was perfectly still. 

“But you were drifting away…” Misaki whispered. 

“No, _you_ were leaving me behind. It was always Homra this, Homra that. It didn’t even matter if I was there or not, because-” 

“I wanted-” Misaki wheezed, then succumbed to more coughs. “I wanted you to feel included. So that you wouldn’t leave. We were partners, right? Us against the world…” 

Fushimi’s heart hurt. He remembered the time, not long before he’d decided to leave, when Misaki had forgotten the reason they’d joined Homra in the first place, stating it had all been for Mikoto when it had been for each other. And now, it seemed as if maybe Misaki had remembered. Why couldn’t Misaki have remembered back then? 

But according to Misaki, Munakata had been Fushimi’s king all along. Had Misaki not forgotten, would Fushimi have continued following the wrong king right up until the end? 

“Exactly,” Fushimi breathed. “Us against everyone else. I didn’t need comrades. I already had you.” 

“Hell yeah you did,” Misaki huffed. “Saru, I… like you. Always have. Always will. Though I guess always won’t be much longer.” Misaki tried to laugh, but it came out a cough, and a tear was rolling down his face. Fushimi clicked his tongue and stepped forward, extending a finger to wipe away the tear. 

“Listen closely idiot, because I’ll only say this once,” he said, trying not to mumble like he wanted to. He had to say this clearly, for Misaki. He squeezed his eyes shut, afraid that looking at Misaki now would cause him to falter. “There has only ever been, and will only ever be, one person who I can’t live without. Misaki is the one person who matters more than anyone else to me. So you need to stay here, because I will hate you forever if you leave me now, Misaki.” 

For an awful second, Misaki didn’t say anything. The only sound was his labored breathing, and Fushimi feared that even at this most important moment, he hadn’t gotten through to him. If only they had more time for him to get this right... 

“Heh, can’t even say ‘I love you’ properly,” Misaki chuckled, and Fushimi felt a surge of relief to hear that Misaki’s voice was stronger than it had been a moment before. He opened his eyes to see that Misaki’s color was already returning, and there didn’t appear to be any new flowers around him. Misaki was getting better. And not just Misaki- Fushimi could feel the slight ache in his lungs caused by the growing spores easing off. They were going to live. 

“Tch,” Fushimi replied, but there was no real annoyance behind his habitual tongue click. “I’ll work on it,” he promised.


End file.
